Part 26 (1/2)
Younger and fairer he another saw.
He drew off. Her verses were left unanswered, her reproaches unpitied.
Laura wept, and Sappho raved in vain.
”The poor girl, to whom all this visionary romance had been a serious occupation, which had swallowed up cares and duties, now realized the woes she had so often admired and described. Her upbraidings only served to alienate still more the heart of her deserter; and her despair, which he had the cruelty to treat as fict.i.tious, was to him a subject of mirth and ridicule. Her letters were exposed, her expostulatory verses read at clubs and taverns, and the unhappy Sappho toasted in derision.
”All her ideal refinements now degenerated into practical improprieties.
The public avowal of her pa.s.sion drew on her from the world charges which she had not merited. Her reputation was wounded, her health declined, her peace was destroyed. She experienced the dishonors of guilt without its turpitude, and in the bloom of life fell, the melancholy victim to a mistaken education and an undisciplined mind.”
Mrs. Stanley dropped a silent tear to the memory of her unhappy friend, the energies of whose mind she said would, had they been lightly directed, have formed a fine character.
”But none of the things of which I have been speaking,” resumed Mr.
Stanley, ”are the great and primary objects of instruction. The inculcation of fort.i.tude, prudence, humility, temperance, self-denial--this is education. These are things we endeavor to promote far more than arts or languages. These are tempers, the habit of which should be laid in early, and followed up constantly, as there is no day in life which will not call them into exercise; and how can that be practiced which has never been acquired?
”Perseverance, meekness, and industry,” continued he, ”are the qualities we most carefully cherish and commend. For poor Laura's sake, I make it a point never to extol any indications of genius. Genius has pleasure enough in its own high aspirings. Nor am I indeed overmuch delighted with a great blossom of talents. I agree with good Bishop Hull, that it is better to thin the blossoms that the rest may thrive; and that in encouraging too many propensities, one faculty may not starve another.”
Lady Belfield expressed herself grateful for the hints Mr. Stanley had thrown out, which could not be but of importance to her who had so large a family. After some further questions from her, he proceeded:
”I have partly explained to you, my dear madam, why, though I would not have every woman learn every thing, yet why I would give every girl, in a certain station of life, some one amusing accomplishment. There is here and there a strong mind, which requires a more substantial nourishment than the common education of girls affords. To such, and to such only, would I furnish the quiet resource of a dead language as a solid aliment, which may fill the mind without inflating it.
”But that no acquirement may inflate it, let me add, there is but one sure corrective. Against learning, against talents of any kind, nothing can steady the head, unless you fortify the heart with real Christianity. In raising the moral edifice, we must sink deep in proportion as we build high. We must widen the foundation if we extend the superstructure. Religion alone can counteract the aspirings of genius, can regulate the pride of talents.
”And let such women as are disposed to be vain of their comparatively petty attainments, look up with admiration to those two cotemporary s.h.i.+ning examples, the venerable Elizabeth Carter and the blooming Elizabeth Smith. I knew them both, and to know was to revere them. In _them_, let our young ladies contemplate profound and various learning chastised by true Christian humility. In _them_, let them venerate acquirements which would have been distinguished in a university, meekly, softened, and beautifully shaded by the gentle exertion of every domestic virtue, the unaffected exercise of every feminine employment.”
CHAPTER x.x.xIX.
Ever since Mr. Tyrrel had been last with us, I had observed an unusual seriousness in the countenance of Sir John Belfield, though accompanied with his natural complacency. His mind seemed intent on something he wished to communicate. The first time we were both alone in the library with Mr. Stanley, Sir John said: ”Stanley, the conversations we have lately had, and especially the last, in which you bore so considerable a part, have furnished me with matter for reflection. I hope the pleasure will not be quite dest.i.tute of profit.”
”My dear Sir John,” replied Mr. Stanley, ”in conversing with Mr. Tyrrel, I labor under a disadvantage common to every man, who, when he is called to defend some important principle which he thinks attacked or undervalued, is brought into danger of being suspected to undervalue others, which, if they in their turn were a.s.sailed, he would defend with equal zeal. When points of the last importance are slighted as insignificant in order exclusively to magnify one darling opinion, I am driven to appear as if I opposed that important tenet, which, if I may so speak, seems pitted against the others. Those who do not previously know my principles, might almost suspect me of being an opposer of that prime doctrine, which I really consider as the leading principle of Christianity.”
”Allow me to say,” returned Sir John, ”that my surprise has been equal to my satisfaction. Those very doctrines which you maintained, I had been a.s.sured, were the very tenets you rejected. Many of our acquaintance, who do not come near enough to judge, or who would not be competent to judge if they did, ascribe the strictness of your practice to some unfounded peculiarities of opinion, and suspect that the doctrines of Tyrrel, though somewhat modified, a little more rationally conceived, and more ably expressed, are the doctrines held by you, and by every man who rises above the ordinary standard of what the world calls religious men. And what is a little absurd and inconsistent, they ascribe to these supposed dangerous doctrines, his abstinence from the diversions, and his disapprobation of the manners and maxims of the world. _Your_ opinions, however, I always suspected could not be very pernicious, the effects of which, from the whole tenor of your life, I knew to be so salutary.
”I now find upon full proof that there is nothing in your sentiments but what a man of sense may approve; nothing but what if he be really a man of sense, he will without scruple adopt. May I be enabled more fully, more practically, to adopt them! You shall point out to me such a course of reading as may not only clear up my remaining difficulties, but, what is infinitely more momentous than the solution of any abstract question, may help to awaken me to a more deep and lively sense of my own individual interest in this great concern!”
Mr. Stanley's benevolent countenance was lighted up with more than its wonted animation. He did not attempt to conceal the deep satisfaction with which his heart was penetrated. He modestly referred his friend to Dr. Barlow, as a far more able casuist, though not a more cordial friend. For my own part, I felt my heart expand toward Sir John with new sympathies and an enlarged affection. I felt n.o.ble motives of attachment, an attachment which I hoped would be perpetuated beyond the narrow bounds of this perishable world.
”My dear Sir John,” said Mr. Stanley, ”it is among the daily but comparatively petty trials of every man who is deeply in earnest to secure his immortal interests, to be cla.s.sed with low and wild enthusiasts whom his judgment condemns, with hypocrites against whom his principles revolt, and with men, pious and conscientious I am most willing to allow, but differing widely from his own views; with others who evince a want of charity in some points, and a want of judgment in most. To be identified, I say, with men so different from yourself, because you hold in common some great truths, which all real Christians have held in all ages, and because you agree with them in avoiding the blamable excesses of dissipation, is among the sacrifices of reputation, which a man must be contented to make who is earnest in the great object of a Christian's pursuit. I trust, however, that, through divine grace, I shall never renounce my integrity for the praise of men, who have so little consistency, that though they pretend their quarrel is with your faith, yet who would not care how extravagant your belief was if your practice a.s.similated with their own. I trust, on the other hand, that I shall always maintain my candor toward those with whom we are unfairly involved; men, religious, though somewhat eccentric, devout, though injudicious, and sincere, though mistaken; but who, with all their errors, against which I protest, and with all their indiscretion, which I lament, and with all their ill-judged, because irregular zeal, I shall ever think--always excepting hypocrites and false pretenders--are better men, and in a safer state than their revilers.”
”I have often suspected,” said I, ”that under the plausible pretense of objecting to your creed, men conceal their quarrel with the commandments.”
”My dear Stanley,” said Sir John, ”but for this visit, I might have continued in the common error, that there was but one description of religious professors; that a fanatical spirit, and a fierce adoption of one or two particular doctrines, to the exclusion of all the rest, with a total indifference to morality, and a sovereign contempt of prudence, made up the character against which, I confess, I entertained a secret disgust. Still, however, I loved _you_ too well, and had too high an opinion of your understanding, to suspect that you would ever be drawn into those practical errors, to which I had been told your theory inevitably led. Yet I own I had an aversion to this dreaded enthusiasm which drove me into the opposite extreme.”
”How many men have I known,” replied Mr. Stanley, smiling, ”who, from their dread of a burning zeal, have taken refuge in a freezing indifference! As to the two extremes of heat and cold, neither of them is the true climate of Christianity; yet the fear of each drives men of opposite complexions into the other, instead of fixing them in the temperate zone which lies between them, and which is the region of genuine piety.”
”The truth is, Sir John, _your_ society considers ardor in religion as the fever of a distempered understanding, while in inferior concerns they admire it as the indication of a powerful mind. Is zeal in politics accounted the mark of a vulgar intellect? Did they consider the unquenchable ardor of Pitt, did they regard the lofty enthusiasm of Fox, as evidences of a feeble or a disordered mind? Yet I will venture to a.s.sert, that ardor in religion is as much more n.o.ble than ardor in politics, as the prize for which it contends is more exalted. It is beyond all comparison superior to the highest human interests, the truth and justice of which, after all, may possibly be mistaken, and the objects of which, must infallibly have an end.”
Dr. Barlow came in, and seeing us earnestly engaged, desired that he might not interrupt the conversation. Sir John in a few words informed him what had pa.s.sed, and with a most graceful humility spoke of his own share in it, and confessed how much he had been carried away by the stream of popular prejudice, respecting men who had courage to make a consistent profession of Christianity. ”I now,” added he, ”begin to think with Addison, that singularity in religion is heroic bravery, 'because it only leaves the species by soaring above it.'”
After some observations from Dr. Barlow, much in point, he went on to remark that the difficulties of a clergyman were much increased by the altered manners of the age. ”The tone of religious writing,” said he, ”but especially the tone of religious conversation, is much lowered. The language of a Christian minister in discussing Christian topics will naturally be consonant to that of Scripture. The Scripture speaks of a man being _renewed in the spirit of his mind_, of his being _sanctified by the grace of G.o.d_. Now how much circ.u.mlocution is necessary for us in conversing with a man of the world, to convey the sense, without adopting the expression; and what pains must we take to make our meaning intelligible without giving disgust, and to be useful without causing irritation!”